Feeling the Heat
by bandj4ever
Summary: Scott, Virgil and Gordon get in touch with their animal side. WARNINGS APPLY. Sexual references and some images may disturb sensitive readers. Oneshot in two parts for easier reading. TV verse.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: All authors, book titles and some place names are fictitious, except for St George. Great place, St George. So many thanks to Quiller for the beta-read. No claim is made on these characters. They belong wholly to Granada. Enjoy!_

**Feeling the Heat**

Scott Tracy watched the sun rise in red on the back of clouds that had brought the storms of the previous evening. He felt the prickle of the weather trickle through him. The temperature was well into the nineties, as it had been all week. The day already had a tense feel to it. One of those days that stretches out long and taut then when you think you have a good grip on it, snaps back to sting your fingers. He hoped not.

He used this quiet time on his balcony to re-orientate his thinking. There was often a moment of uncertainty when he woke. His job meant he hopped time zones, locations. He often needed to stop to ask where he was, what day it was. If he woke up alone then he was back on Tracy Island. The job done. The rescue complete.

As he watched the clouds recede, a pang went with them. He was a self-described cloud chaser. Both his own and other people's. Clouds were where calamity formed and that was where he would be called. Existence had little meaning without that call, his personal life on hold before it. In the strength of these summer mornings, the beat of his inner force was amplified in his temples, in the soreness in his bones from the previous day's effort, a metronome effect like the wash of the sea against the rock of their island. Each signalling time lost to him, the sum of his physical span reduced.

With the unusually oppressive humidity, it was tempting to dismiss any idea of getting dressed after his shower but, when he heard the rattle of plates in the kitchen for a late breakfast, he relented by pulling on a pair of shorts and went in search of distraction from his thoughts.

His grandma stood at the range, her face puckered and lined with sweat. Despite the heat, she had diligently prepared a 'welcome home' breakfast for Alan after his month-long stint of duty in Thunderbird Five, and she flipped pancakes on a ceramic cook top absentmindedly.

Scott stood behind her and gave her shoulders a squeeze. "You spoil us," he whispered in her ear.

He tried to take advantage of her apparent inattention. His fingers reached under her elbow to pick up a broken pancake on the edge of a plate. But the implement in her hand slapped down on the stack with a decisive _swat._

"And don't you forget it," she said.

Chuckling at the near miss, Scott moved to the pot to pour a coffee and took his heart-starter over into the dining section. There was no air conditioning in Tracy Island villa. They didn't normally need it. The house was designed on passive solar principles and it was unusual for their tropical paradise to be enslaved in a week of such enervating heat.

And it was getting to him.

The heat from the kitchen was a match for the temperature of the limp breeze from the sea. Gordon, Alan and Tin-Tin were already at the table, the former two engrossed in various newspapers scattered in front of them. Scott slumped down opposite them and almost immediately wished he hadn't.

Alan had the temper of the dawn sky clearly etched into the twin lines of a frown. Tin-Tin fanned her face with the pages of a magazine, her body turned away from him. Scott groaned inwardly. Alan had only got back from space duty, yesterday. Already trouble in paradise.

And worse, Gordon looked as perky as any red-haired twelve-year-old, except his fourth brother was more than double that age. Scott could never figure out how Gordon danced around the house in weather that wilted everyone else.

Gordon finished off a bowl of cereal with an exaggerated _slurp_. He beamed. "Good morning."

Scott leaned his head on his hand. "Mmm."

"Where's Virg?" Gordon said.

"Where do you think?" Alan said.

"Well, Gordon," Scott said before he had to break up World War III. "We had a late one, you know."

Scott picked up a book next to Gordon on the table to read its title. _Secret Sex in the Sea. _He dropped it like it had burned his fingers and flipped it over so the front cover was hidden. His anxious gaze did a quick pan of the area to check for Grandma.

"At the table?" Scott whispered.

Gordon leaned on his elbow towards him. "Did you know that Wrasse are really, really sneaky. They wait—"

"Sea stars pluck their arms off," Alan said dully. "To reproduce. Certainly be a whole lot simpler."

Scott blinked at Alan.

"Isn't it hot," Tin-Tin complained, blowing a piece of wayward hair from her eyes and waving her magazine more vigorously. Alan's frown deepened.

"I slept by the pool. Beautiful down there," Gordon chirped. "Slept _all_ night."

"Huh," the two opposite Scott grunted.

Scott looked from one to the other then at Gordon.

"This." Gordon reached across in front of the younger occupants of Tracy Island and tossed Scott a newspaper. He tapped the sports page headline with his finger.

"_Angelina Holdman Wins Parola Sands,_" Scott read aloud. It meant nothing to him and he looked to Gordon for a clue. Gordon pointed at Alan as if to give his younger brother a cue to begin a well-rehearsed speech.

"Angelina Holdman is Philip Montero's wife," Alan said. "Philip is the number one driver. Or _was_."

Tin-Tin twitched and squared her shoulders. Scott knew her well enough to know she was marshalling her forces. He waited in vain for Alan to continue.

"And…?"

"His wife. He lets his wife _drive._"

Tin-Tin huffed.

Scott had a moment of understanding.

"She came ahead of her husband," Gordon whispered.

"I would never let my wife drive at Parola Sands," Alan said. "Never. Far too dangerous."

"Yes, but Alan, what if she wanted to?" Tin-Tin said sweetly. Tin-Tin had a way about her that intrigued Scott. She could make her point without raising her voice or giving her tone a rising inflection. Genteel, polite almost to a fault but with the impact of a steel trap.

"It's too dangerous. Women shouldn't be allowed to race. Not with the men. Especially not once they're married."

"Alan Tracy." Tin-Tin's mouth stayed open longer than necessary. "I can't believe you said that."

"Yeah, well, Scott was saying the other day that women…"

Scott sat back in the chair, holding up his hands as a defense. "Hey, Al. Remember the context. We were talking biology. Physical differences."

"A bit late to give Al your birds and the bees lecture, isn't it?" Gordon said.

Scott thought his brothers had outgrown heart-to-hearts but Alan had surprised him when he had contacted him late at night from the space station asking general questions, vague questions now Scott thought about it. He tried to recall exactly what Alan did say. It was late and he was so surprised by Alan asking him questions that he wasn't sure he listened as well as he could have.

"We were talking generically," he said between his teeth. "Male, female, you know. Not necessarily of the human variety."

Scott looked up guiltily as Grandma brought in the plate of pancakes and put them in the centre of the table. She straightened with her hands on her hips.

"And what pearls of Tracy wisdom am I missing out on?"

Scott grabbed three pancakes and dragged them to his plate before anyone could protest.

"Great cakes, Grandma. Thanks. You're an absolute wonder." He smiled broadly at the females present, to which Grandma clipped him lightly behind the ear before she returned to the kitchen. "It's all in the timing, Al. I told you before. Never bring up a contentious issue before you've eaten. Certainly not before breakfast."

Scott piled his pancakes with maple syrup and applesauce while the others divided the remainder.

"There are some things women can do that men can't," Gordon said and if he thought that would help the conversation, he was mistaken.

Tin-Tin put down her magazine with such deliberateness no-one present could misinterpret her reaction. "Some, Gordon?" Tin-Tin said softly. "Like read instruction manuals and find the pair to her socks. All the while keeping down a full-time job, doing eighty percent of the housework, popping out a few offspring in between and if she is lucky beating the world's best in her spare time."

She got up from the chair and stalked across the eatery for more coffee. Both Alan and Scott glared at Gordon.

"The manual wasn't logical," Alan said across to her. "That's why I didn't follow it."

Scott looked up as Virgil shuffled in noisily, clutching at the waistband of his pyjama pants. Virgil grunted to everyone at the table then slumped down heavily into a chair next to Scott.

"You said females are more unstable than males because their hormones fluctuate," Alan said, seemingly unable to take Scott's hint.

Scott watched anxiously as Grandma returned from the kitchen and came into hearing.

"I don't believe I used the word 'unstable'," Scott whispered across the table. "We were talking cycles. Natural patterns. That kind of thing."

It was Virgil who perhaps saved him from a verbal blast. His brother groaned as he rested his forehead on both his hands. "Anyone seen the paracetamol?"

Tin-Tin looked at Virgil. "Poor Virgil looks to be suffering. I hope it's not from his hormones."

Virgil opened one eye and glanced around the table.

"Certainly not females ones," Gordon said.

He had a point. Virgil, unshaven and with his unwashed hair at all angles, looked as rough as any male could. Scott watched as Virgil hooked a finger around Scott's own cup and dragged it closer to his face so he could stare into it.

Grandma sighed, taking in Virgil's appearance. "Look at you boys. Maybe if you put clothes on to come to the table, we wouldn't have to listen to this nonsense."

"It's too hot,' Gordon said, patting at his uncovered chest.

"That's something else, we women aren't allowed to do." Tin-Tin was wrapped in a silk kimono that was pulled tightly across her.

"You can go topless if you want," Scott said from the corner of his mouth. "None of us will complain."

"Living here, I'm beginning to think Hamingwey's right," Tin-Tin said with a sigh.

"You read Hamingwey?" Scott asked with interest. He always thought this author's subject material might be of more interest to males.

"The biology trap. I need something to explain what goes on around me. Maybe it is a trap."

Grandma had her hands on her hips again. "Have you boys ever thought that it works the other way around, too? Do you ever really think what a corrupting influence you have on us females with what you wear or don't wear?"

For some reason they all looked at Tin-Tin.

"No corruption came from this side of the table," Scott said, to which Tin-Tin went a little pink in the cheeks.

Scott did look at each of his near-naked brothers and found they were doing the same to him. In mixed company, he might grudgingly admit they were a handsome bunch. They were broad-shouldered and muscular, with not an ounce of fat between them. While among themselves, for him to look with too much scrutiny was to make comparisons with a touch of sibling envy and a compulsive competitive urge.

Even so, Scott's gaze lingered. Gordon was the most sculptured of his younger brothers present, his heavy shoulders tapering to a tiny waist. He was completely clean-shaven, oiled and bronzed, a testament to his commitment to his swimming. To observe him casually was to see a flawless example of youth. Scott knew that image was deceptive as the scars from the hydrofoil accident across his body testified.

Alan was stockier, shorter and was most like Virgil in his tendency to grow body hair across his chest and down his abdomen as a perfect match to their respective hair colours. Blond for the youngest and brunette for Virgil. Virgil was broad, solid, but tended to round in his form giving him a softer, gentler appearance. This was also a false image as Scott knew he was the strongest of them.

He saw his brothers look at him. He considered his physique the result of his personality rather than his biology, something beyond hormones and the male's natural ability to create muscle. He saw it as his duty to set the example. His hard-board, angular appearance and shaven body were the results of discipline and self-control.

Nothing more, nothing less.

"We're the product of our job, Grandma," Gordon said, flexing his well-developed bicep provocatively in front of Tin-Tin, the various layers of the muscles in his upper arm visible as they slid across each other under the skin.

"Your testosterone load, you mean," Tin-Tin breathed. "The time you spend working-out."

"We need to keep fit," Scott said between mouthfuls of pancakes. "Saves us from injury."

"So, in the gym? What are the mirrors for?"

"Yes. What are they for?" Grandma said. "I've always wondered."

"Well, it's – so we can see we move right…correctly…" Scott looked to Gordon. Gordon jumped from his chair and he gave them a view of his back, flexing his arms above his head so his shoulders opened and highlighted the broad spread of his trapezius.

"It's for balance. Perfection of form," Gordon said over his shoulder. He paraded like he was imitating Mr Universe, altering his stance as he spoke. "Back. Side. And centre. We don't want to get overdeveloped in any one area."

They groaned as a group, Tin-Tin holding up the magazine between her and him.

"Then, how about you work on developing your brain," Alan said.

"Oh, sit down, Gordon," Grandma said. She thrust out a large fork in front of her. "That sort of thing just wouldn't have been allowed in my day. My pa would never had tolerated me seeing that. Not when I was a pretty young thing. We had to go about the place decent and modest."

They looked at her blankly.

"Modest?" Alan said, glancing down into his lap. "We're modest."

"Oh, you boys just don't get it." She turned on her heels and went back over into the kitchen, muttering, "Just don't get it at all…"

"Now you've done it, Scott," Alan said. "You've upset Grandma."

"_Me?_"

"I'm still trying to figure out," Gordon said with a confused look. "How we got from Parola Sands to the gym."

"As I said, bro." Alan snatched up a newspaper and snapped it to get the page he wanted. "Needs work."

Just as Scott could see Gordon was working up to a gleeful retort, the emergency klaxon sounded. Scott looked at Virgil when Virgil's forehead hit the table with a _bang_.

* * *

"Some women have fallen down a mine shaft in Northern Australia," John was saying to their father from the video portal on the wall as they trooped into the lounge to receive their orders. He stopped his commentary to look at his brothers. "My, my, my. What a happy, energetic bunch we have here."

"Just because you have a controlled atmosphere," Alan said.

"Wouldn't be alive at all, if I didn't," John reminded him cheerfully. 'Now, would I?"

Jeff frowned at Virgil. "You up to this, son? Alan can go in your place."

"I'll go!" Alan said.

Virgil immediately straightened. "I'm going."

"Maybe it's the 'women' bit he's not up to," Gordon said.

"Make sure you boys look presentable before you get there," their father told them. "All of you. You look ragged."

John continued on his commentary. "From what I can make out, the injuries aren't life threatening but they can't get out."

"So, why can't local authorities handle this?" Scott asked.

"It's raining. They're afraid the shaft will flood before they can get there. Apparently a third of the Outback is under water."

"I thought it was all desert out there," Alan said.

"Well, it's wet now. Fixed wing can't land. The soil acts like a bog when wet, they were telling me. Choppers are all out with urgent medi-evacs. A Mines Rescue team is two hours away and ground crews think they'll take too long to get to them by boat. They've asked us to help."

Scott took a deep breath, knowing mines were always tricky. "Okay. Two women in a hole."

"Gordon. Go with Virgil," Jeff ordered.

"Hey," Virgil protested. "Scott and I should do just fine if there are no serious injuries."

"I haven't forgotten you two were out all day yesterday and most of the night. Just in case either of you need to put your head down. Gordon. You go."

"I can go!" Alan exclaimed.

"You're still adjusting to the earth's atmosphere. Gordon."

"Yes, sir!" Gordon grinned at Alan.

"You wanted to work on Four," Alan whispered. "I'll cover for you."

"I'm going."

Grandma came into the living room behind them. She tossed Virgil a packet of headache tablets and passed a basket over to Gordon, which smelt suspiciously like the breakfast they had been enjoying.

"Bless you." Gordon kissed her on the cheek. "I really can't get by without my grandma."

Scott turned to Tin-Tin beside him. "You coming? You'd be welcome. I'm sure you could use a shovel as well as the rest of us."

She nudged him away with her elbow. "Brains wants me to help with the refit of Four's ballast."

"What can I do?" Alan asked anxiously.

"Help with the refit," his father told him.

"You never know," John said. "If it keeps raining like they predict, Four might be needed."

"Okay, boys. Off you go."

There was a simultaneous call of FAB. Scott watched Virgil stride to his panel in the wall and grab a fistful of his pyjama bottoms as the wall section lifted him onto the track that took him down to Thunderbird Two. Scott didn't, however, head for the secret panel that would take him across to Thunderbird One. Instead, he put an arm around Alan's neck.

"Little brother," he whispered. "You enjoy something that none of us have a hope of having while we're here. It's bad enough knowing what you two get up to. I don't like watching a lover's tiff at breakfast. Work it out. Today. Okay? Or I will."

Alan went red. "You wouldn't."

"Al, you know she adores you. Apologise. Admit you were wrong. Get down on your knees. Whatever it takes."

"I'm not wrong!" Alan said. "Since when is it wrong to care? You'd think the same way I do, I know you would."

"Whatever it is, I'm not interested in who's right or wrong. I'm interested in the morale of my team members." When Scott saw Alan's chin protrude, he added, "And those I care about. You've got until we get back."

"Scott?" his father said. "Problem?"

Scott pushed Alan towards the hallway where Tin-Tin had disappeared. "No, sir. Not any more."

"Good. Then _Thunderbirds are Go_."

* * *

"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Two. What's your ETA, Virg?"

"Eleven and one half minutes."

Scott peered at the ground as Thunderbird One hovered near where John had pinpointed the distress call originated. It certainly was a desert scene with a deadpan landscape dotted with stunted tortured-limbed scrubs, though the water glinting in his landing lights was real enough. It was mustard red and spread before him as far as he could see. He surveyed the scene sceptically.

"Well, I don't believe this, but you're going to have to put down in water. I don't think it's deep, yet. A foot or two at the most but maybe you'd want to raise up as soon as you land so your jets aren't in the water. The only high spot is around the mine workings. I can see a collection of buildings. Old machinery. Bits and pieces. A couple of mine shafts, so far above the water level. Let's hope they're in one of those or we've wasted our time. And, ah, you might want to break out your cowboy boots."

"Boots? Why?"

"There's a herd of cows down there. About a hundred. An equal number of kangaroos and those big grey birds. Emus? All around the mine site. Trying to keep out of the water. They don't look too happy at the sound of Thunderbird One's jets. I don't see the need to set up Mobile Control so I'll meet you in the pod when you land. I'll have a look around while I'm waiting, see if I can work out what one of these shafts they're in. And it's raining so you might want to break out the wet weather gear."

"Message received. Two out."

Scott made contact with John. "Any further transmissions?"

"Not so far. It was very faint to begin with. She was on a UHF 40 limited range device. A five-watter, most likely. She was trying to call up the big house on the property but didn't have any luck. She said the ground gave way under them so that might give you a clue."

"I'll make a low level pass. That might prompt her to speak up if she hears the engines."

"Good plan."

Scott made a slow pass in Thunderbird One. It was not a good plan. The livestock scattered but not as far as Scott hoped. They were reluctant to go back into the water and wheeled and fought each other for dry ground rather than separate. Then to his dismay, he saw they charged towards the entrances of the mine shafts, which were just rectangular black holes in the ground. There was nothing to stop them falling in on top of their rescuees. Scott hit the jets and took his bird soaring.

"Anything?" Scott said.

"Not yet. Try again."

"Negative. Bad idea. I nearly sent those animals down on our people. Those animals are going crazy down there. I'll put down and look on foot."

He put down gently, grimacing as he felt the landing struts skid and settle into soft ground. _At least my bird sits high off the ground. _He spared a thought for Virgil who would have to put his precious machine down on its belly. He pulled on his wet weather gear and fired up his hover bike.

"Switching to the wrist-com," he told John.

He locked and left his bird, hunching against the steady rain. He took his bike towards the wall of bovine watchers.

"Didn't think to bring the bullwhip," he quipped to John.

"Yea-har, huh, Scott?"

"For the moment I'll go over their heads. Funny looking animals. Big humps, loose skin, droopy ears. Looks like cows and calves."

"Sounds like Brahmans. Popular breed in northern stations, so says the info I have here."

"Okay. Great. At least I'll know what to call them."

Scott took the bike over the heads of the animals, pleased they only ducked out of his way and didn't charge. They still did take more interest in him than he expected.

"Does the information tell you why these cows are bawling their lungs out at me? I can't hear myself think. Can you hear them?"

"Cows, did you say? Maybe they're expecting you to rescue them."

"That's unlikely."

"Hungry?"

"Well, heck. Virg doesn't pack a few spare bales of hay, by any chance? He's got about everything else."

"Nope."

"The problem is if someone calls. I can't hear above this racket. I'll look at the shaft entrances. Might tell me something. Any transmission?"

"Negative."

"Okay. Going in."

Scott took the hover bike over to the cluster of five shaft entrances. He was dismayed when the cattle actually followed him. He tried to herd them back but to no avail. He went to each of the rectangular holes. They were reamed out to about six foot by five, the edges sandbagged around the rim collar, and propped with square planks, a windlass with the remains of a rope and rusted metal bucket over the top. The one on the far edge drew his interest. It was much larger than the rest, the collar on one side had a broken away from the shoring, and the ground had slipped away at an angle into the darkness.

"Might have something." He took the hover bike in over the backs of the cows.

Just as he lowered the bike near the shaft, his attention on its surrounds, something flew at him. It was the last thing he expected. A dog leapt at his machine and would have taken a chunk out his leg if it could have reached. Scott yelped almost as loudly as the animal that was after him and he partially toppled off the seat of his machine. He clung on tenaciously as the bike bucked and swayed at his unorthodox dismount, keeping one eye on the hole and the other on the canine bearing its teeth and making valiant leaps for his person.

"What's that?" John asked.

"What does it sound like?" Scott breathed as he struggled to right himself without falling into the hole himself.

"Sounds upset."

Scott took his machine to the far side of the shaft only to have the dog sprint after him. He watched with consternation as the animal ran around the hole, the sides so soft they gave even under the weight of the dog. Debris and water flowed into the darkness below.

"Now I've got some dog after me. A black and brown bitch with yellow eyes and four hundred very sharp-looking teeth. Got a name for that, John?"

"Watch you language, son," his father cut in.

"I wasn't cursing, as much as I feel like it. It's a female dog."

"Very good," John said. "You're learning your animals."

"It's hard to mistake. It's got big – well – you know."

John laughed. "Mammary glands, you mean? She must have just whelped. Just had pups, for you. Sounds like a kelpie."

"Did anyone tell you how helpful you are? Okay, Dr Doolittle, consider this. I've got a wall of cows bellowing at me, a dog going crazy below me and I can't get near the shaft as the sides are caving in."

"Think that's the right one?"

"Pretty sure. The ground near this shaft's definitely been disturbed. Someone could have walked near the edge and it's given way. Maybe that's why the dog's here."

"Either the owner or her pups. You can't see where her pups might be?"

"The only other place they might be would be under the feet of these cows. I'm going to drop the remote camera just to be sure this is the right one. Give me an idea how stable the shaft walls are and how deep our ladies might be. Where's Virg?"

"Should be on your southern horizon."

Scott switched his com to speak to his brother. "Stay clear of the danger zone, Virg. Those jets of yours'll cause havoc with these beasts. And forget the wet weather gear. It must be 110 degrees. Humidity near one hundred percent. I'm saturated with sweat. The gear'll only hamper us."

"Gordon's suggesting wet suits. Spandex thins."

"Well, expect to get wet and crap filthy. This red soil looks like glue judging by the appearance of those already down here."

"FAB, Scott. Be with you in two point five minutes."

* * *

The three men gathered around the telemetry in Thunderbird One. Gordon was in his grey steamer, which covered most of his body, and Virgil had gone halfway with his Farmer John overalls, leaving on his blue uniform top. Scott had simply thrown aside his coat in Thunderbird One's hatch in disgust, knowing full well the gear wasn't going to keep him dry, and stripped off to change into his spare kit, thinking someone had better represent International Rescue by being in uniform. Scott released the mobile camera, a three-legged beetle look alike that he could operate by remote control, and they watched as it flew back to the mine site. He took it over the heads of the cattle in search of the shaft he'd located earlier. It was still raining heavily and the lens on the front of the visual unit blurred.

"Water's rising. But slowly," Scott said.

"Let's hope it's not rising below ground," Virgil said.

The others only grunted as they watched.

"Here...somewhere..."

"Don't let that dog get hold of it," Gordon said.

Scott stopped the unit and made it turn the full circle. The cows and their calves stared into the lens.

Gordon chuckled. "Look at those big eyes. At least they don't have horns."

"They're a lot bigger than they look and they're hungry," Scott said, lowering the camera towards the shaft. The dog was lying down, head on its paws at the edge of the shaft. It stood up to look curiously when the unit passed.

"Poor thing looks tuckered out," Gordon said.

"Until she wants one of us for a meal. Okay. Here goes." Scott turned on the lights that shone ahead of the camera unit and steered it into the hole. He tilted it to look vertical. "Clear down."

"Swing it around to the left," Virgil said. "Where that side's fallen."

"Clean fall. Surface water running in. We'd better bag it. Okay. Let's find our ladies and check out the rest of the wall later."

"Looks like the shaft's not wide enough to get a stretcher down," Virgil said.

"Horizontal might work. We'll take the compact."

The unit wobbled. Scott stopped it then panned the lens. "Small obstruction. Beam and debris. Have to be careful getting past that. Look at the gouges in the wall. Quite a ride for our pair."

He manoeuvred it around the length of timber lodged across hole. Scott watched the depth gauge. At just under thirty feet, the audio picked up a sound.

"Hold it," Virgil said.

Scott stopped the camera, panned it then tilted it. Instead of murky darkness, the light picked up something solid below it. He carefully lowered the camera a few more inches. This was the end of the fall. He moved it forward over debris, wood, water and equipment. Then he could see a human face.

He grinned.

An extremely dirty face grimaced as the light shone in her face. Scott picked up the microphone.

"This is International Rescue. How are you down there? Speak towards the unit and we'll hear you."

Scott was surprised when the female raised a brown bottle and toasted them.

"Come on down and party!" she yelled. "It's rainin'!"

They could only see her from the shoulders up. She appeared partly buried, partly surrounded by camping gear and canvas. Most of what they could see was reddish brown from mud, her eyes winking in the light like bright buttons on a dolly, her hair pulled back in a ponytail equally stiff from dirt.

"Gee," Virgil whispered. "I wonder what she'd be like on a good day."

"Well, that's neighbourly of you," Scott said into the mike. "We might do that. I'm Scott."

"Roxanne. Roxy, really. Foxy Roxy." She said her name a few more times as if she enjoyed the sound of it, and Virgil and Gordon glanced at each other. She took a long swig from the bottle with the yellow label before saying, "International Rescue, huh? You a Yank? You sound like a Yank."

"Yeah, I might be. Any objections?"

She humped one shoulder. "Might overlook it this time if you're good lookin'."

Scott chuckled softly. "Well, that may be a matter of opinion."

Gordon leaned towards the microphone. "He's as ugly as sin. Me, on the other hand, I'm…"

Scott quickly covered the mike with his hand. "Don't encourage her."

She gave a _whoop_. "What are you waiting for? Come on down! Hey, you on the other end. Mr S. Don't take it too hard, you've got a grouse voice."

Scott looked aside to his brothers. "Grouse? Is that good?"

Gordon raised his eyebrows. "She was smiling when she said it."

Scott watched her take another swig from the bottle and he withdrew his hand from the microphone. "Actually, Roxanne. There's a few of us, so you'll have plenty of company, soon. And what we'll be doing is coming down to get you out of there. As soon as we can. Okay?"

She gazed around her. "Oh, it ain't too bad. Once you get used to it."

"What's say you leave what you're drinking for us."

"Plenty more where this came from. Don't mind sharin'."

Virgil pointed to the screen. "Look." His finger rested on the image of three similar bottles to the one she was holding that had been discarded in front of her. "She's a little bent."

"Hammered, I'd say," Gordon said from the corner of his mouth.

"Hopefully she shared with her companion like she said," Scott said then pointed at the screen himself. "The way she's holding her right arm. Dislocated shoulder?"

Roxanne had on a sleeveless shirt. The UHF radio unit hung from a leather holster slung across her shoulder like an ammunition belt. Scott could see why the radio didn't work. It was crushed in at the top near the stub of an antenna and looked like something heavy had stood on it. It certainly accounted for the state of the woman's collar bone, Scott amazed John had picked out the signal at all.

"What's that dark colouring across her other shoulder?" Gordon said. "Bruising?"

"Too early to show," Virgil said.

"Air quality?" Scott said, studying the telemetry with more care for any information that might be useful. It never paid to be surprised under any circumstances.

"Good," Virgil said. "CO levels low."

Scott picked up the microphone again. "So, how are you? Doing okay? In any pain? What about your shoulder?"

"It's busted. So's me leg. And me guts don't feel too good, neither."

"Okay. We're coming down. You think you can hold on until we get to you?"

"Scared shitless but can't feel a thing thanks to ol' Fourex, here. Don't sweat it, S." As she jigged her bottle, she launched into a bawdy song about not giving a XXXX for anything.

The three men exchanged amused glances. _Don't sweat it?_ Easy for her to say. Scott did a quick check on the water level above her to be assured the rate of rise hadn't changed since he last looked. He was already in a lather of sweat, his spare uniform saturated and he hadn't left Thunderbird One, yet. He drew his sleeve across his face and noticed the beading of moisture on his brothers' faces.

"How about your companion? We understand there's two of you."

She took another drink from the bottle. "Roxy's doing okay. As happy as Larry. Or would be if Larry were down here but he ain't so we are havin' a party." She cackled. "Scarlet, I don't know. She's makin' noises when she breathes. Can't get to her. I'm kinda stuck."

Scott was immediately on the alert. Noisy breathing was not a good sign. "Where's this Scarlet? Is she conscious?"

Their rescuee turned her head to their right. She punched at the gear beside her and the whole background seemed to heave.

"Hey, watch it," he said, alarmed something might shift and bury her completely. Scott watched a shallow ripple of water come towards the camera. He had visions of her drowning before they'd even left their Thunderbird machine. "Try not to move any more than you have to."

She pointed the bottle at the camera. "You're a funny man, you know that."

"I'm going to move the camera so we can see your companion. If you want to communicate, you just talk and we'll hear you."

"You do that," she agreed.

Scott sent the camera on a slow pan. Roxanne was caught among fallen rubble, debris and mud, which was getting wetter by the minute as water ran down the sides of the mine shaft. The bottom of the shaft opened wide into an open span, relieving that claustrophobic feel produced by the light bouncing off the sandstone walls. Two sides were illuminated by the light. On the third, the light disappeared into a spiral of shadows suggesting the possibility of an exploratory drive. He was pleased there would be room for them to work but disappointed there was no sign of another human. Scott lifted the camera and sent it towards the pile that had moved when Roxy punched it. As the camera moved over the bulk, they heard tiny whimpering sounds.

Pups. They were sightless little creatures, all on their bellies, nudging at the surface they were on and poking their snouts into the canvas. Except for their roundness, they were miniatures of what they'd seen on the surface.

"Can you see them?" Scott heard Roxanne ask just to the side of their camera. "I tried to reach."

"Two. I can see two." Scott swung the camera back to catch her reaction.

"Good. I heard Poppy upstairs. She'd be goin' troppo." She pointed to the sky. "How's the mob?"

"The –er – mob?"

"I think she means the cows," Gordon said.

Scott reassured her that Poppy, the pups and the 'mob' were okay. Hungry and wet but okay. He moved the camera further to her left. Something hit the camera as they heard a long sigh. Their view wobbled momentarily. When the picture cleared, the three of them reeled back from the screen. From seemingly out of the mire, something alive filled their monitor. It shone like a tarnished silver dollar in ultra close-up. It was eye shine.

Scott immediately turned the unit to the side to diffuse the light. The eye was brown and perfectly round, white sclera showing around the edges. When it blinked, long lashes scrubbed downward across the lens, covering a dash of an elongated pupil.

"That's not…" Gordon pointed needlessly.

"Not when I went to school," Virgil said.

"A horse?" Scott said. "Scarlet is a horse?"

Virgil swore softly beside him. "Looks a train wreck."

The horse was partially buried, upside down and appeared twisted, one foreleg wavered as it pointed to the sky, the neck turned back on itself. Scott could hear the groaning sounds it made when it breathed.

"Doesn't look good," Scott agreed. "Thirty foot drop. It's taken the fall. Must be why Roxanne's in good shape. Okay. The woman's on her own. And we have a badly injured animal. We have to get someone down there. Fast."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"So, what's it to be?" Scott asked his brothers. "Cows or dog? We need to move those animals back and we have to stop that dog from biting us before we can even start."

The three looked warily around them as they huddled together on their hover bikes over the hole, studying the crush of animals around them. Scott raised his watch to his lips.

"John. Ask Brains if I can use the stun gun on an animal the size of a small dog?"

Scott waited impatiently, keeping an eye of the water level with a pair of binoculars and watching as water trickled from the surface into the shaft. He began to feel the pressure of time. He mentally organized his priority list. Cows. Dog. Stabilization of shaft entrance. Erection of lifting gear. Release of trapped rescuee. Evacuation of injured.

He'd left the camera down the shaft and relayed the video feed to Thunderbird Five so John could keep Roxanne amused – and away from that beer. That was one pressure off his mind. Thankfully, she didn't appear in a great hurry to go anywhere even when he explained what they'd need to do before they could free her.

They'd brought an all-terrain vehicle from Thunderbird Two and parked it at a distance so as not to push the animals forward around the shaft. It was very similar to the carrier they used in snow. It had caterpillar tracks and was already indistinguishable from the surrounds by the mud the tracks splattered over the unit. Scott quickly found using a hover bike was the easiest way to get around and to transport their gear. On foot, he tended to sink up past his ankles.

"Negative on the stun gun," John finally came back. "Not unless you want to hurt it."

"Might have to, if it means we can get near the shaft entrance."

"You'd better not," Gordon protested. "Not with the owner within hearing. Let's try and catch it."

"It might not _have_ an owner, if we don't hurry it up. All right. Volunteers. Gordon, you've shown the greatest empathy with the animals. You're the bait for the dog. Virg and I'll work on some kind of barrier to keep these cows back."

"FAB," Gordon agreed dubiously.

Scott asked John for the latest weather report while he watched Gordon edge his bike towards where they'd last seen the dog.

"Rain easing over the next six hours but water levels in your area are expected to peak at 1.2 metres, which would be about four feet."

Scott whistled. "It's not raining that much."

"It'll come from the rivers up north. Water flows inland here."

"How long?"

"They're predicting it'll rise steadily over the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours."

"Let's hope it's slow. Thanks. Scott, out."

Virgil and Scott fired their bikes to scout the mining camp.

"I saw a fence line when I flew over," Virgil told him. "We could use wire from the fence to make a barrier."

It took Virgil fifteen minutes to cut and drag wire with the hover bike to have enough to make a square around the perimeter of the shaft. Scott used a portable pneumatic drill gun to force metal rods into the ground to act as fence posts. It was slow going. Each time he put his foot to the ground, it sunk and he had to yank it out but with care so as not to lose his boot. They need not have worried about the 'mob' being aggressive, which Scott thought was just as well because he wouldn't have been able to run even to his hover bike. Quite the opposite. The beasts were a little too friendly and followed him like pets.

"The guns. We'll have to fire the guns," Scott despaired when confronted by a line of obstinate cows. No amount of shouting, waving or shaking his fists could move them for long enough to fix the wire to the posts. He leaned over, his hands on his knees as he wiped his forehead of sweat. "Man, this heat."

Virgil took off the top of his uniform to flay at the cows. His effort was rewarded with better progress, and they used pliers and tie wire to fasten the wire to the posts.

"All this brings back memories of Kansas," Virgil mused as they worked.

"At the moment, I prefer only thinking about the past, not re-living it," Scott puffed as he struggled to tighten the wire on the strainer.

"I remember one particular gal and her horse."

Scott stopped work momentarily to mop his brow with his sleeve. "Becky. Sweet thirteen."

"Was she only thirteen? Mmm. Still, too old for you. Never heard you show such appreciation of an Appaloosa."

Scott felt his face blanch. "Heard, huh?"

"I had to find out what you found so fascinating in Becky's barn. I didn't think it was her horse, despite what you told Grandma."

Scott gave a final yank on the strainer arm. "All right. What's this going to cost me? Or have you already told the others?"

"Let's see if I can get the sounds right." Virgil clipped off the last of the tie wire ends and stood upright, wiping his face with his forearm.

"Okay. What do you want?"

"The auto washer couldn't possibly get into all the crevices of Thunderbird Two. This soil is something else."

"Two!" Scott groaned. "Not—."

Virgil made the sound of an intense breathless moan.

Scott grimaced. "Those tablets Grandma gave you obviously didn't help your headache. Maybe I should mention you need a dose of salts." Then he was assailed by pictures that flashed through his mind. "Yeah, but those hands, Virg. First time I believed in a heaven on earth."

"Uhuh." Virgil grinned with him. "Know exactly what you mean."

Before it registered with Scott what his brother was telling him, the cattle next to him suddenly bunched. They bumped and brawled with each other as they fought for room, putting a strain on the fence they'd just erected. Virgil gave a shout of warning. As Scott tried to liberate his feet from the bog to move out of the way, one cow swung its head and caught him clean in the centre of his back. He slipped and lost his footing. To fall. Flat on his face in the mud.

While a curse was forming on Scott's lips, Virgil barked, "Don't move! Do not even breathe!"

Scott saw the problem. From beneath the feet of the cattle, a snake slithered out into the open about six inches from his nose. It was so close he could look it in its cold-blooded eye and count the dark bandings down its six-foot length. It was brown in colour, its tan and red-speckled underbelly rippling as it effortlessly found its way across the ground at Scott's level.

"Close your eyes," Virgil said. "Slowly. Slowly."

Scott watched the reptile hesitate in its progress, its head raised in curiosity, its black tongue probing the atmosphere around it. He very carefully lowered his eyelids.

"Steady. Steady."

After what seemed an unbearably long time, Scott heard a shot and felt the splatter of mud from where the bullet impacted close to his head. He heard Virgil's quick tread and opened his eye in time to see Virgil grab the tail of the snake and launch it into space over the heads of the cattle.

Virgil replaced his sidearm in his belt holster and came back to offer him a hand up.

"You too, huh?" Scott said.

Virgil grinned as he dragged Scott to his feet. "With the community spirit Becky had, she'll go far. I had you going there for a minute, didn't I?"

Virgil chuckled and Scott laughed with him until he realized he had landed in much more than mud.

* * *

"Gordo? Where's Gordo?" Virgil scanned around him.

Scott finished off a container of water. After all he had consumed, he decided it was a waste of time to drink more. As soon as he did, it started him sweating and it seemed to ooze out of him just to lie in a tacky coating on his skin.

He was pleased with the progress in the past twenty minutes. The fence they'd erected was holding the cattle, though he knew it was coming under increasing pressure as the water rose and the animals sought to keep above it. They had inflated a pontoon device that acted to stop the water running into the shaft and had used an impermeable membrane to pack with soil to provide stability to the area directly around the shaft where they needed to work. Above the hole they had erected a broad triangular scaffolding that supported their rescue winches and lifeline gear, which would transport them, their tools and medical equipment into the depths. Across it, they had affixed jacks to plastic sheets to act as a temporary rim support for the soft edges.

They were now ready to get the trapped woman out. Then they could pack up and go home to somewhere cooler and cleaner. After his dip in the fresh cow manure, Scott'd become offensive even to himself and he had to break with all protocol and take off the top of his uniform. There was nothing respectable to put on and, as he wasn't planning on going underground, he didn't think it would matter. Sash, equipment belt, safety harness, helmet went on with little else under it. At least the rain had eased.

He spoke into his com-watch to find out the answer to Virgil's question.

"We'll be right with you," Gordon said. "I think I've found something that might help."

Gordon's description was more than accurate. As soon as Scott asked the question, he heard the airy motor of Gordon's hover bike as it flew over the cattle. And his brother wasn't alone. The dog sat importantly on the bike's seat in front of Gordon with its paws on the steering arm. It barked when it saw Scott and Virgil, but Gordon said something to it and it looked up at Gordon with a conciliatory waggle of its body before licking him under the chin.

"The dog likes him!" Virgil said incredulously.

Scott waited for Gordon to land the machine beside the line of the fence. "Gordon! How in tarnation?"

"Simple. You only have to know the canine mind and show a little charm and charisma to a lady."

"You've never had a dog."

The dog barked at the two on the ground and Gordon patted it to quieten it.

"John came up with the idea of asking the owner. Roxy said Poppy was a sucker for motor bikes. Said she'd leave anything to go for a ride on one. Bit of a wild child. What did Roxy say? Tru-blu biker. I didn't think the dog'd know the difference between this and a normal machine. That and, ah, something to eat. Worked wonders."

Virgil's expression darkened. "Eat? What do you mean _eat_? The only thing edible we had were the pancakes. What did you give her?"

"Well," Gordon said, a little uneasily. "I knew you wouldn't mind sacrificing."

"My breakfast? You fed my breakfast to a dog?"

"All right," Scott intervened. "Gordon, gear up. I want you down that hole. You're the smallest. I want you to check it and start digging that woman out. As quick as you can."

"Did you hear the party's going on down there without us? John's doing a great job keeping her distracted. Though...better you don't hear. They're telling the worst jokes on the planet, even worse than mine. John had to cut the audio to Base. Their language is not suitable for mature audiences."

"So long as he keeps her off the alcohol."

"I found something." Gordon indicated a sack behind him on the gear rack. "This was in that tumble-down place back there."

Scott moved forward to look then stopped when the dog growled and raised the sides of its mouth at him. Gordon opened the hessian bag to show them.

"Wheat," Virgil said. "I'd recognize it anywhere."

"Not enough to feed a multitude," Scott said.

"Maybe it'll be enough to get their attention away from us," Gordon said. "I don't know how good it is. It doesn't smell right but it might keep that fence up."

"Okay. Spread it around. But be careful. I don't know how I'll explain to Father that I let you be trampled by those dewy-eyed creatures you so enthusiastically described."

"FAB!" Gordon shouted as he gunned the motor. Scott watched as dog and brother disappeared back the way they'd come.

* * *

"Right, Virg. Down you go."

For all the bravado their rescuee was showing, Scott was in no mood to wait for Gordon to get back. Roxanne was scared, injured and drunk. Not to mention in danger of drowning. A crash would inevitably come and he wanted someone there when it did.

"Okay, John," Scott said into his com-watch. "Happy hour's over. Warn Roxanne we're coming down. Tell her to protect her face in case we bring down more than we intend."

In a couple of minutes Virgil was fitted with the full-body harness and on his way. As Scott monitored the lines on the winches that fed Virgil into the shaft, he could hear Gordon doing his job. The cows' bellowing increased in intensity and volume, and he was pleased to see the cattle move away from the barrier.

At the twenty-nine foot mark on the feed winch, Virgil called a halt. The line went slack for a minute then, to Scott's dismay, Virgil signalled his intention to return to the surface.

Scott waited impatiently until his brother's head appeared in the daylight. He moved forward as far as he dare to pull Virgil across, preferring not to have anyone stand near the edge.

"What the –" Then Scott saw what Virgil held. He carried a battered broad-rimmed hat, which he thought looked something like a Stetson that had seen some pretty rough weather, and in the hat were the puppies. "I would have expected this from Gordon."

Scott hauled his brother across, took the hat then waited while Virgil climbed hand-over-hand to the edge of the scaffolding.

Virgil grinned as he released the safety line from the harness. "Roxanne wouldn't let me touch her until I took care of these things. Remind you of anyone I know?"

At that moment, Gordon and his companion returned, and the dog almost tore Gordon from the machine in its eagerness to be reunited with its offspring. Scott let Gordon take care of the dog though he had to bite his tongue to do it, setting up a bed in the sack in the lee of the foot well in his bike out of the rain, while he helped Virgil go back underground.

"What's it like?" Scott asked Virgil as he was about to set the winch in motion.

"Putrid at floor level. Strange smell."

"What, do you think? How are the readings?" Scott said, referring to the instruments on Virgil's harness that would monitor for dangerous gases.

"Don't know to be honest. Air quality still good." Virgil indicated where they'd seen on the camera the timber that was lodged in the side. "Access is clear so long as we avoid this section."

"Stable?"

"As long as no-one sneezes."

Once Virgil was down, Scott sent down a bag of equipment then helped Gordon into the second harness.

"What were you saying about natural cycles, big brother?" Gordon said indicating the dog before he, too, disappeared down the shaft.

Left by himself on the surface, he kept a check on the winches, the water level and the dog. The water now came in tiny creeping waves like pulsating fingers across the feet of the cattle. When Gordon had returned, so had the cattle, the wheat not enough to satisfy them for long. And they didn't like getting their feet wet.

Scott was also on the look out for more reptiles. He understood what flood waters would bring; anything that would float or swim as it searched for higher ground. The water was already bringing in armies of ants and other crawling insects. He would need to be vigilant against being bitten or stung by anything nasty, this land of Oz one place where that possibility was more like a guarantee.

And as he waited, he found his gaze returning to the dog. The family was huddled together in the sack Gordon had arranged, Poppy licking and suckling her hungry young. He smiled, in spite of himself.

He contacted the space station.

"Any chance you can patch the audio from the mobile camera through to my com?" he asked John. "What's happening?"

"Give me a minute. They're digging. Ah, Scott, I don't know if I was entirely successful with Roxanne." He paused then chuckled. "She knows more terrible jokes than Gordon."

"How much?" The audio from the camera abruptly cut in and Scott could hear for himself. Roxanne was singing.

"At least another bottle," John said and winced.

Scott compressed his lips in annoyance as he listened to progress above the unusually husky voice of their rescuee. He heard Gordon speak to her. Scott knew he'd be checking her injuries then putting on her whatever safety gear they could. In the background, he could hear the slice and slosh of a shovel, which indicated Virgil was digging.

"Slight problem," Gordon said into the com-watch. "We'll need some heavy cutters. A circular saw or something. We've cleared the mud from Roxanne but there's lumber across her abdomen and legs. Virg's just checking but it looks like the horse is on top and is holding it down. He'll see if there's anything he can move but he's not hopeful."

"What about the dicetylene cutters?" John cut in. "Anything noisy might upset our equine friend."

"On wood?"

"Brains is giving me the nod. Just have to be careful not to set it alight."

"No shortage of water to put it out," Scott said wryly. "I'll organise it."

Before he could, there was a sudden commotion in his watch. A roar, shouts of "Whoa! Whoa! Steady! Steady!" and then an expletive from Gordon.

"John?"

"Lost visual."

"Gordon?"

"Hang on," Gordon said. He whispered to someone. It was still again. Even Roxanne was quiet. Water dripped somewhere in the background marking the time like a rabid heartbeat, the earth's doleful murmur magnified in the com-watch. It was a long few seconds before Gordon spoke again. "Virgil got too close to the horse. It kicked him."

"How bad?"

"Wait." He could hear Gordon coaching Virgil to breathe. "He's down."

"Cor, fruit cakes!" Roxanne exclaimed from a distance. "Copped him fair in the—."

"I think," Gordon whispered directly into the com-watch. "His reproductive life just flashed before his eyes. No. Wait. He's shaking his head. He's indicating right lower quadrant. Okay. Tried to take his appendix out. Winded, mostly. Ah, things have become a little upside down here. I can't get to Roxanne without risking the same and we've lost the lights."

"Hold tight. Stay where you are. I'm coming." Scott pull tightened his harness and snapped his locker onto the third line. "Watch out."

* * *

As Scott's feet sunk into the deep mud at the bottom and let the light on his helmet penetrate the situation for a few seconds, he knew his brothers had not exaggerated what he'd find. It was putrid at floor level, the air pungent with an ammonic gaseous quality, a cross somewhere between propane and compost. This only highlighted the press of the roof, which was just tall enough for him to stand upright away from the shaft, and the confines of the drive, which could just as easily be a tomb being so narrow.

Gordon was right. Things had changed since he last saw the visual. The horse was in the middle of them, almost free, four legs visible when before he had only seen one. At least now it didn't appear twisted. Gordon and Virgil were huddled on one side of it, Virgil on his knees, bowed to the ground and Gordon next to him to support him. Roxanne was on the other. Planks of wood, digging implements, mounds of dirt were piled in chaotic disarray, not dissimilar to a bomb site. The horse had done quite a job on the place. And being liberated, was now a lot more dangerous.

"Gordon?"

"Okay, over here. He's managed a few deep breaths."

"Virg?"

He got a pained grunt as reply.

Scott unhooked and immediately went to Roxanne. She was on her back, humming as she stared up towards the point of daylight. He was pleased Gordon had at least put a helmet and cervical collar on her.

"Hey. What's happened here?" he said to her, stroking her face with the back of his hand to wipe away fresh mud.

"I think I'm free! Things are kinda numb and when Scarlet went berko everything shifted and I fell over with nothin' to hold me up. Trust the ol' girl to get me out. Always done that, she has. Is your friend right? Sorry, she can be cranky sometimes."

Scott checked her status and found she wasn't under the timber.

"He'll make it. I think maybe your horse has good reason to be upset. What about you?" He kicked a couple of bits of wood out of the way and started to look for other injuries. "Virgil! Think you can make it back above ground? Too crowded down here. Gordon, set the lights back up but be real careful how you go around that animal. We need that stretcher down here. ASAP. And the inflatable splint from the kit."

Scott barked orders and Gordon sloshed tentatively through the mud to follow them, giving the horse as much room as possible, having to scrape the walls with the risk of dislodging more sandstone to get past it safely. Out of the corner of his eye, Scott saw Virg stand up, still bent almost double.

"Virg? Can you make it?"

"Ye-h," he answered roughly then coughed. "Winded."

"Let's all get out of here, huh? Yesterday."

When Virgil attempted to straighten, Scott realised it was more than shortness of breath. The blow had split the microfibre of his wet suit and blood trickled down his leg. Virgil pressed a gauze to his lower abdomen as he made a few pained steps to the ropes. Scott found his attention torn between wanting to help his brother, who was in apparent agony, and their victim who seemed to have been born without a nervous system. He watched Gordon help his injured brother with the ropes, making sure none were tangled or kinked.

Scott felt a tug on his arm.

"By the way, your friend needs his eyes checked."

He focused back on her. "Does he? Which one?"

"The one who thinks you're ugly. I was only kiddin' before. I'd still loves ya wherever you come from, even if you looked like the back end of a bus. Which you don't. More like an XR8 SP ute. Sweet, as."

He chuckled. "Thanks. I think."

He saw her eyes looking over the rest of him. "You sure fill out that uniform."

Scott then remembered he was bare chested under his safety gear. "Er – sorry. Slight accident above ground."

"Cow shit, huh?"

"Do I smell like it?"

"In your hair."

He groaned.

"Don't be sorry. I'd have to drive a thousand klicks to Brizzie to see what I'm seein' down here. Enjoyin' the show. This is just the day job, right?" She laughed so hard at her own joke, Scott thought she was going to choke and he felt obliged to hold her steady. "Did you hear that one, Scarlet? What a beauty!"

Gordon came with the medical kit. Roxanne's right leg below the knee was a mess and they took some time to get it stabilised in place, making sure none of the shattered bone fragments cut off the circulation. Scott was worried by her apparent lack of sensation.

"Let you in on a little secret," Roxanne whispered when he voiced his concern. "I'm startin' to feel it. But I ain't thinkin' about it. See, out here, I've broke about every bone in my bod. Been thrown. Stomped on by cattle. Charged by bulls. Kicked through fences. Out here, no-one to pick me up when I fall down. See?"

"You do this on your own?"

"Mum, too. But Arthur Ritis is courtin'. She don't get out much. Rest is done contract. This mob of breeders is the last of our core we got. We've been de-stockin' since the drought. So, mum sent you? She heard my radio message?"

Scott told her he didn't know, that International Rescue had picked up her distress call, and he asked John to see if he could contact her mother when Roxanne gave him the call sign. Scott checked on Virgil and Virgil showed he was on the job by sending down the stretcher. As Gordon guided the metal basket down the shaft, Scott turned his attention to her shoulder.

"It's busted," she told him. "Always doin' that."

"Does this often, does it? It's dislocated. Your function and circulatory status are good. I could try to relocate it – put it back in place – and make the trip much more comfortable. We've got a lot of travelling to do. You, being a woman of grit, might not mind a little temporary pain. Bite on a bullet, if that would help."

She rolled her eyes and head in an exaggerated fashion.

"You are easily distracted, aren't you?" Scott said, grinning.

"It's rainin'. And I'm pissed. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You got that right. Okay. You want to try this?"

She nodded, saying something about a piece of cake.

The ball of her humerus had dropped forward slightly. He put the palm of one hand on the arch of her collar bone and his other firmly gripped the point of her elbow, bending it ninety degrees. While keeping the limb in traction, he first turned the elbow joint towards her abdomen then twisted it back in a smooth action. He used his fingers on her shoulder to guide the ball of the joint back into place, feeling it settle where it was supposed to be. A moment of anxiety on her face was replaced by a broad grin.

"Miracle worker!"

"Just the day job."

It was then he noticed the dark area on her opposite shoulder they had seen on the camera's visual. He discovered it wasn't bruising – it was a tattoo. And a big one. It looked like the scaly tail of a prehistoric reptile starting on the bulge of the deltoid that covered her left shoulder joint and disappeared down the front of her shirt, he refraining at that point from thinking exactly where. She must have seen him glance at it.

"Dragon," she said. "Like it?"

"It's – colourful."

"Born in St George. That's a place. Get it? St George. And the Dragon."

Scott didn't. He had lived in a number of places in the US but didn't have their names etched into his body. "I'll pretend I do."

"You will one day." She winked exaggeratedly and tried to sit up, weaving slightly, but Scott stopped her. "So, how are we goin' to get my girls out of here?"

"Right now, we're concentrating on you."

"Did you bring that big green thing? International Rescue. I've seen pictures. What are they? Impressions. Im. Pressions. That's what they are, ain't they?"

"Er, well..."

"Not leavin' without my stock. What I came out for, what I'll leave with. This water could sit for weeks. My whole life's up there." She pointed towards the sky. "Not leavin' without them. That big green machine. It'll take a mob of one hundred and seventy, includin' calves, right?"

Scott asked Virgil. He was met with a long silence and he knew what Virgil would be thinking. Gordon chuckled in the background.

"Ye-up," Virgil finally said. "No problem, except maybe time."

While Scott spoke into the watch, Roxanne dragged herself across to the horse. He tried to stop her but she hit his hands away. He was not only anxious about her moving in case of spinal injuries, he was fearful she would set the horse in motion again. Since the uproar, the horse had been unusually quiet, and he wanted it to stay that way for their safety's sake.

"Look, Roxanne," Scott said. "We may not be able to help your cows at the moment. You need urgent medical care. You're our priority. There's only two of us to round them up and those cows aren't keen to go into the water. It'll take time we don't have."

Roxanne stroked and talked to the downed animal. "They've been handfed. You don't have to muster. They'll lead. All you have to do is find Mini. She's the herd boss." Perhaps she saw his blank expression. "You can recognise the lead cow, can't you? She tells the others what to do and where to go."

"Oh yeah, I know," Gordon said. "Six two, dark hair, blue eyes. That kind of herd boss?"

Roxanne's gaze travelled from Gordon to Scott then she laughed with her mouth open. Scott noticed that Gordon had moved out of his physical reach and he heard John chuckle in the com-watch.

"So, what does this Mini look like?" Scott felt stupid asking the question, wondering how they could tell one apart from so many even if she did tell him.

"She's a short arse for a Brahman. She's crossbred. And she hasn't dropped, yet. She hasn't calved. She's _always_ late. You do know a cow in calf when you see one?"

"We can work that one out," Scott said. "Okay. In the stretcher. You're going up."

Roxanne clung to her horse. "Not going in that cat basket. No way. This place ain't called _Culgoa Downs_ for nothin'. As in _not up_. I get dizzy goin' into Toowoomba. Besides, I got unfinished business."

She rested her head on the horse's neck.

"John has a vet on standby," Scott said to her. "We'll take care of things here."

"Don't need a vet. You smell that? You know what that is? If you'd ever butchered a cow for meat you'd know. That's what the guts smell like. She ain't goin' nowhere."

Scott took a closer look at the animal and realised what he had thought was mud across the animal's flank was, in fact, a large seeping wound. The only way he knew to get the animal out of there would be to use an extraction sling – and part of it had to go around the abdomen. He could see that would be impossible.

"Ah, Scott," Virgil interrupted. "I'm standing in water up here. You need to get out of there."

"Right. In the stretcher. Gordon!" He tried to roll her away from the horse but she resisted, using her elbow to dig at his handhold.

"I don't want her to suffer!"

"You asked for help and we're here to give it."

She squirmed so she could look up at him. "Give us your gun." She indicated his sidearm.

He shook his head. There was no way in Hades he would allow someone in her state to have access to a firearm. "I'll do it."

"This's somethin' I have to do."

He was leaning over her, his right hip angled against her in preparation to take her weight. She twisted, raised up and made a grab for his gun. It wasn't something he expected. She moved fast, like the whip of the snake he'd seen earlier, striking hard. He caught her hands, clamping them against the holster so she couldn't take the weapon from him but he could tell she wasn't going to give up easily.

They wrestled. She grunted as she wrestled him and kicked at him with her good leg. Her boot connected with his shin but was close enough not to have momentum behind it. All it did was fling mud over the horse, which made the hide flinch. He only had a brief moment to consider what would happen if she did pull the trigger, even accidentally. He would be sorry, very sorry indeed. She was a healthy lass, not beefy, but with enough sinew showing in her efforts to warn him she could be tough. He had no reason to think she could overpower him physically – it was the gristle around her determination that worried him.

Scott saw they were perilously close to the horse. One careless step, one unfortunate slip...

Gordon jumped to grab her forearms then, when she yelled in pain, Scott went to his knees to take the pressure off her injured shoulder. He had to stop this. This was putting them all at risk. He went down over the top of her, deliberately putting his weight across her. He not only heard but felt her gasp. Gordon followed suit by grabbing her upper legs, bundling them to his chest as he prostrated himself on her. Under their collective burden, her struggles lessened. She let go of the holster and he lightened his grip on her. She gulped air beneath them, breathing fire through her open mouth as her chest heaved.

"Listen to me," Scott said into her face. "I'll do it. As soon as you're out of here. When that flood reaches here, it'll bring down a lot more than water. There will be no way out. You're risking all of us. Understand?"

Her fingers latched onto his upper arm with such force he winced. "You don't understand. This is not just some animal. This's my fault. I was countin' stock. I wasn't lookin'."

"I'll take care of your companion. But you're first."

"I can't leave her. That would be...that would be...I can't."

"I'm going to make you, so blame me."

"Look, Slick!" she said clenching her fists. "You wanna a fight, I'll give you a bloody fight but this ain't fair."

Scott stood his ground, his voice gaining a gunmetal edge, ready at any moment to protect his armoury again. "You have a choice. The easy way or the hard. You can fight but there's two of us and we can be persuasive. You're going. Whether you want to or not."

She glared at him for a moment, must have decided he meant it and subsided, slackening against him. "She's special, you know. She walks with this little wiggle. Drives the studs crazy but she wouldn't have 'em, no siree. Not until she's good and ready. Boot 'em in the guts if they try anythin' she don't wanna do."

"Sounds familiar," Scott said out of the corner of his mouth. "Come on. Topside." And he indicated to Gordon to bring the litter closer.

She chuckled. "You got potential, you know that." Then she sighed. "Life's a bitch. In a few weeks feed'll be knee-high. Wildflowers. Bird'll be back. The frog'll breed. Cycle'll start again. My leg's buggered, ain't it? Wrecked."

"Modern medicine can do amazing things. But the longer we leave it. Come on."

He got her under the arms and dragged her away from the horse, her fingers pulling a clutch of mane with her. For the first time, she groaned. Then she coughed, heaved and threw up down the front of him. He felt the warm liquid run down his thigh, his nostrils filling with the stench of sour, curdled booze.

"Scott!" Virgil yelled into the com-watch. "Water's seeping past the membrane."

Scott looked up to see the ominous run of water down the sides. "Right, Gordon. No time." He jigged his hold on her so he could snap her safety harness onto Gordon's. "Get her up. Now. Clear the site. Leave the gear. Get Virgil. Pull back to the ATV. This whole area could collapse."

"What about you?"

He helped Gordon part drag, part carry Roxanne to the ropes. "Right behind you."

"Don't wanna go," she wailed. "Don't wanna..."

"We can't leave you," Gordon said to Scott.

"Do it. That's an order." Scott yanked the lifeline ropes around Gordon's carabiner on his chest strap and spun the screwgate home. "Get her and yourselves clear."

Between them, their bundle moaned. "Let me go. I wanna die..."

"But, Scott, an animal?" Gordon hissed.

Roxanne wouldn't let go of Scott's arm. "You know – _how _– right? You better know how or so help me...so help me, I'll...I'll hunt you down...I'll...I'll..."

"I'll find out. You have my word," he said to her. He wrenched her hold from his arm and pulled her good limb around Gordon's neck so Gordon could embrace her securely.

"I was a gonna," she said, her head lolling into Gordon's shoulder before he could keep it straight. "I thought it was good we go – together. I was just makin' it easier with the grog. I didn't mind. Honest. Not after this bloody drought. Not without Scarlet. The bank'll take everythin'..."

"No, you don't. You've shown you're tougher than that," Scott said. "Gordon. Go."

She called goodbye to the animal, begging its forgiveness, and he watched them disappear towards the daylight as she complained to Gordon she was going to be sick. Scott stood and waited until Virgil had pulled them across to safety. With his head bowed and still breathing heavily, he raised the watch on his wrist to his lips.

"Is that vet still available, John? And, ah, could you turn off all audio when I give the signal, please."

* * *

The shaft was coming in on him when he finally surfaced, though he wasn't going to tell his brothers, and he was pleased to see the danger zone had been cleared – even the cattle were gone. Once he'd cleared the mine workings on his bike, he saw something that made him grin even when he didn't feel like it.

The ATV was going up the incline into Thunderbird Two's pod, behind it a long line of droopy-eared cattle obediently followed, the stragglers wading in flank-deep red water. He could catch snatches of 'Hup' and 'Come on' from Roxanne out the back of the vehicle and the occasional bark of the dog. The dog was on Gordon's bike and Gordon was using his machine from the rear to hurry along the slower ones.

He didn't want to think about the state of his own person and the only thing he craved at that moment was a very long shower. He was long past being hungry; the events of that morning had seen to that. His gun hand still ached from the recoil. He'd made sure. He'd made damn sure there would be no more suffering, at least for the horse. _Shower. Shower._ He felt soiled, more than physically, and by the time he rode up into the pod, the word had become a mantra.

Gordon met him as he set down the bike and the mobile camera within the confines of the pod.

"All present and accounted for," Gordon said and beamed. "The water was getting too deep even for the ATV so we pulled back. We're going to box them in one corner, make a corral with some of the machines in here so they can't move around."

Gordon had to almost shout for Scott to hear. The scene resembled a cattle sale and the dog was on duty, nipping at the heels of any strays.

"Was it this noisy on Grandma's farm? I remember the country as being quiet."

"They don't seem to like being in here."

Scott hit the switch to raise the pod door then went to walk towards the lift that would take him up to the main level and sick bay.

"This way." Gordon pointed in the opposite direction, across to the ATV. "They're over this way, in the birthing suite."

"The what?"

"They may need a hand. And careful, Noah's not in a good mood."

"_Noah_? You're living dangerously, bro."

Gordon grinned and turned to return to his charges.

Scott trudged wearily across to the ATV, kicking off his mud-laden boots and safety equipment as he went. He was tempted to strip off the rest of what he had on while he was about it but thought better of it. What had Grandma said at breakfast. _Corruption_. He guffawed at that idea. But professionalism demanded an asexual first responder and he had better comply.

The last thing he expected to see on the other side of all-terrain vehicle was Virgil spreadeagled on the floor, naked from the waist up and with his arm part way up the back end of a cow. Roxanne was prostrate beside him, trying to claw him out of the way with her good hand.

"Let's have a go," Roxanne was saying.

"Hang on," Virgil grunted. "I think I can feel."

The cow strained.

"Wait! Wait for her," Roxanne said.

Scott grimaced. "Er – everything okay, here, Virg?"

"Head's back." Virg winced as the cow moved. He had his eyes closed, his head turned in the direction of the roof. "Stuck."

"He's pushed the calf back now he'll try to bring the head around." Roxanne looked up at him then her expression tightened. "Done?"

Scott nodded.

Her gaze held his. "Owe you. It's a...hard thing."

He nodded he understood. "You're welcome. Um, anything I can do?"

Roxanne looked him up and down. "Clean up first. You wouldn't handle your partner without a wash, would you?"

"If I thought I was going to get this intimate, I guess I'd be particular."

She seemed to like that quip. It seemed to take the tension out of her face and she chortled and slapped Virgil so hard, he flinched. "Keep it up, Mr S! Potential. Potential."

Muttering something about having more than potential, he went to one of the hoses they used to clean out the pods and turned the nozzle on himself. In the bright light of the pod, Scott saw that Roxanne was younger than he had reckoned, younger than he was, and being called 'Mr' didn't improve his impressions of the day. When the water that ran off him changed from opaque to clear, he returned not quite ready for a new challenge.

At least, less of Virgil was immersed in the cow.

"Progress?" he asked.

Roxanne beckoned him forward. "Grab a leg."

Scott couldn't see a leg. "Er – in there?" He pointed to where Virgil's arm disappeared.

"I've straightened the head," Virgil puffed. "I've got one leg but I can't lie on my stomach to use my other hand to get the other one."

Scott could see he was struggling.

"You have to pull both legs but not together, one has to be ahead of the other," Roxanne coached.

Scott got down on his hands and knees and he could see what he was going to have to lie in. Virgil had ruptured the bag surrounding the calf. _The things I do for International Rescue. _He gingerly slid his hand in next to his brother's and in a few minutes they had the feet where they could see them. Scott hadn't realized how much work this business was and he could see Virgil was in pain from the effort.

"Hey. I'll take it from here. You rest."

Virgil agreed a little too readily. Scott changed position. He sat up with his legs spread and reached forward between them to grab one leg in each hand. On the next strain of the cow, when Roxanne told him, he pulled. Perhaps harder than he needed. The calf suddenly came. It was more unwieldy than he expected and he fell backwards. The calf landed on top of him with a loud squelchy _splop_.

"It's a bully! It's a bully calf! Our herd! Our new herd!"

On hearing Roxanne's shrieks, he raised his head to see one warm, wet and bloodied calf resting on his abdomen.

"What do you know, Scott's a dad. Who'd have ever thought." He heard Gordon say above him.

They let cow and calf bond as all three of them lay exhausted on the floor. Roxanne enthusiastically thanked him with pats on his anatomy that felt more like he was being beaten up, Scott seeing for the first time she was making her own mud on her face and smearing it with the back of her hand.

"You still do that," Scott said dryly. "I was beginning to think you'd also been experimenting on your own kind out here."

He should have known better than to make a wisecrack while she was close to him. He'd had the opportunity to observe that her reactions tended to be swift and physical but, as he had just seen what a difference a smile made to her appearance and outlook, he couldn't resist.

"I like you!" she cried. "You're funny!" Amidst a hail of hee-hawing laughter, she knuckled him on the meat of his bicep and it was enough to bring tears to his eyes as well.

He laughed with her and embraced her in return when she didn't mind his slimy state, all the while sparing a sympathetic thought for those she drank with, if any of them were game. During the thirty seconds Scott took to rest, all he could hear was two hundred bellows reverberating throughout the metal chamber of the pod.

"Gordon?" Scott asked without opening his eyes. "Why are those animals making so much noise? I hope they're not protesting your animal husbandry."

"Roxy?" Gordon said.

"What are they doin'?" she asked, dabbing self-consciously at her face.

"They won't stand still and they're kicking a lot."

"Unhappy, I guess. Nothin' to eat or drink."

"Only the wheat," Gordon said.

"What wheat?" she sniffed.

"In the sack I found in the hut. It was to keep them from the fence."

"The shack? The wheat in the shack? That's seed wheat not feed. It's been treated. As old as. I brought it across to throw around the mine." She swore louder than Scott thought possible. "We have sick cows."

Scott let his arm fall across his face, the vision of cool, clean Tracy Island receding from the horizon. "How sick?"

"One bag. Among so many. Not so bad. Colic, maybe. Could be bloat. Worse case. Scours."

"As in...?"

"The squirts, the shits, bovine diarrhoea. Clear enough for you?"

"_Gordon!_" Virgil roared.

* * *

When Scott finally walked into the living room of Tracy Villa on Tracy Island with Virgil limping beside him and Gordon a step behind, he at least expected a warm welcome.

He counted up the things he could add to his CV. The day had ended in the _Culgoa Downs_ yards where he had learnt to operate a cattle crush while Virgil used the drench gun. It occurred to him he had not inherited one farming gene from his ancestors and was, in every way, glad. No wonder he had become a pilot. Gordon had the easy part; all he had to do was take Roxanne for medical treatment. By the time they had returned to the homestead, she was about ready to crash as Scott had predicted and Gordon was the cleanest of them for that task.

Now, if the expressions on his family's faces were anything to go by, he could forget the hero's reception he thought they deserved. Their smiles quickly turned to expressions of disgust. Grandma wrinkled her nose. Tin-Tin covered her face with a hand. And they withdrew towards the kitchen. Alan was still frowning.

"Er – best get cleaned up, boys," his father said quickly. "Rough day. Virgil, see Brains about that injury. We'll debrief when you're – ready."

"We've already emptied out the water tank on Thunderbird Two," Scott said. They'd taken rotating turns in the shower and had divided the remaining clean uniforms among themselves. The rest went in the garbage disposal. Still that smell...

"Another shower won't hurt. Off you go. We'll talk later."

Scott focused on Alan, who fidgeted on the opposite side of the room to them. "What do you think, Virg, Gordo? Think Al could use a refresher in his rural skills?"

"Mmm. Definitely," Virgil said. "So keen to be involved this morning. Now's his big chance. After our hard day."

"I've been busy!" Alan said. "The refit took all day!"

"_Successful_ day, was it?" Scott asked.

Alan fidgeted and he backed up when the three of them advanced on him.

"This morning I appreciated your willingness to help," Scott said. "How about Gordon shows you what the aftermath of a large number of cows with scours looks like?"

With an anxious expression, Alan appealed to his father.

"Scott and Virgil have been out two days running, son. Gordon'll need a hand."

Gordon put an arm around his brother's neck and led him towards the underground equipment bays. Scott helped Virgil to his room then went straight into the kitchen.

Tin-Tin startled when he walked straight up to her and stood directly in front of her. She raised a hand to her nose and backed up two steps.

"Oh, Scott. Mr Tracy's right. Another shower wouldn't hurt."

"So? Is everything okay between you and Alan?"

"I'm – not sure what you mean." She turned to rearrange the pot holders on the counter. "Mrs Tracy's excelled herself. You'll love the—"

"At least get together. Talk."

"I'm sure you must be very hungry."

He stood with his arms crossed, baring any further retreat from him. "He's down in the pod. He'd appreciate some help."

"Is that an order?"

"Did it sound like one?"

"Scott!" his father's voice boomed behind him. "Grandma will have your hide being in the kitchen like that!"

Scott gave ground and stood back from Tin-Tin, still staring at her.

"It's my fault, Mr Tracy," Tin-Tin said. "I was just offering to help Alan clean out the pod."

"That's not a job for you," Jeff said.

"They've had such a big day and I am a team member. I don't mind."

"Are you sure? Scott?"

"I – didn't mean for you to..." he said to her.

"Get dirty? No. You're right. I can do it just as well as anyone else."

Scott grinned down at her "Dad, I want it on the record what a terrific team we have here."

Tin-Tin squeezed passed him, careful not to touch him and hurried off down the hall.

"Ah, Scott," his father said and lowered the volume of his voice. "When we debrief. Your grandmother wants to talk about a dress code. I'm not in favour but you know how she is when she gets an idea.

* * *

Later that evening in the privacy of his own balcony, Scott was face up in the pouring rain and wearing nothing but a smirk for a day well done. Virgil was propped up beside him in a lounger and on his other side Gordon was face down with his head turned aside as he rested on his folded arms, both also undressed. He watched distant heat lightning halo the cumulus masses that brought the storms to their island at this time of the year. As he felt the rain run over his body, Scott wondered if he should be tired of it after the day he'd had but it had a soothing quality about it. Back in the house, back on his own territory it was easier to let the images be diluted by the ordinariness of normality, to feel washed of the responsibility of giving life – and taking it.

"A dress code," Gordon said and groaned. "In our own house."

"I don't think I'll ever feel clean enough to put clothes back on," Scott muttered as he lay luxuriating in the rare pleasure of not having to be anywhere or do anything just for the immediate future.

"Some day, all right," Virgil said.

"Some cowgirl!" Gordon chuckled. "I wonder what she's like when she's sober."

"_That_ was the rancher's daughter."

"Any word?" Scott said.

"We checked with John before we landed. They're hopeful of saving her leg."

"Only hopeful, huh. Damn. Maybe we could do something."

Gordon reached for something then pressed an object into Scott's hand. It was long and cylindrical. Gordon reached to give Virgil the same thing.

"A cigar?"

"She said she's going to name the new cross after us," Gordon said. "This calls for a celebration. All those cows have names you know. They're mighty long and they show their heritage. Internationalus Rescuia Scottsona. Try saying that underwater."

"Gordwena, you mean," Virgil said and he ran the cigar under his nose. "How long has it been, darlin'. Now, this is corruption. _Dominican._ Mmm. Like butter melting on a sun-drenched afternoon."

"The things we don't do for International Rescue," Scott said and sighed as he, too, took in the aroma of the cigar.

"How about Virgilius?" Gordon suggested. "Well, at least our names will be recorded somewhere for posterity."

"Do I really want to be remembered in the bloodline of humped-back cattle?" Virgil said.

"It's about as close as we're likely to get."

Scott groaned at the thought.

"Be grateful," Gordon said. "In the natural scheme of things, you're past it anyway, big brother. Those cycles you were talking about. You're on the downhill run. All those little Scotties are getting tired and slow. Your younger brothers on the other hand, who shall remain anonymous, are still in their prime."

Scott raised his head. "A man can father children well into his seventies."

Gordon made the sound and action of a plane going into a steep dive.

"You know, Virg," Scott said. "As much as Gordon said, I don't think you're anything like Noah."

"_Noah?_" Virgil choked.

"Gordon was thinking if the rescue business goes quiet, you could always haul livestock."

"_Noah? _Be warned,Gordon, you only have one life and I'm about to claim it!"

"Actually, Gordon reminded me of Moses. The whole Red Sea bit."

"The water didn't part," Gordon said sourly.

"Well, what does Al say? Needs work."

Virgil laughed at that then said, "Scott, you keep looking at your shoulder. What's wrong?"

"Ah, it's nothing."

"Makes you wonder, doesn't it?" Gordon said. "Would you want your wife out doing what Roxy was doing?"

"No," Scott said then re-considered when it sounded harsh. "Well. I'd struggle with it. I'd – worry."

"Maybe Al has a point."

Virgil pretended to draw on his cigar. "Something we don't have to worry about. We've chosen a different path."

"Saving the planet!" Gordon said and trumpeted through his smoke.

"Yep, we're spared those details," Virgil said smugly. "We're focused professionals. We've left that behind. We've decided to make that sacrifice."

Gordon sat up abruptly as if an idea suddenly occurred to him. "You know if everyone here was family we wouldn't need a dress code."

"After what we saw today, that's not likely," Scott said. "Where are they, by the way?"

"Movie theatre. Together. Alone." Gordon emphasised the last word with a suggestive glee.

"That's a relief."

"It almost happened. Another member of the family," Gordon said.

"When?"

"Those cycles. Al and T had a scare. A false alarm, you could say."

Scott was up on his elbows. "Tell me."

"Al went a little protective when he heard of the possibility. He said he didn't want her going on rescues as it's too dangerous. She's backed off. Wary, you might say, and for more than one reason."

"And I had her clean the pod!" Scott groaned, letting his head fall back. "I'd better be extra nice to her."

"But that's it. She wants to be treated the same. Just like us."

"She's not. The dress code confirms it," Scott said. "Who would want Tin-Tin like us, anyhow? She has far more going for her like she is."

There was an uneasy silence.

"An issue we're likely to be martyred over, no matter what we think," Virgil said as he sucked on his cigar and he leaned on his lounger to tap Scott's chest. "If you've hurt your shoulder."

"I was wondering what I'd look like with a tattoo."

Gordon flipped over onto his back. "Do you want to know where the dragon went?" He indicated the top of his left shoulder. "Across here then down here." His fingers walked across the line of his clavicle and down between his breasts. "The little feet were climbing on here." He grinned as he poked his own pectoral muscle group on his chest and his skin wobbled. "Then right down here and over here." His hand made a sweeping movement around the curve of his ribs. "It had this great big smile and a wink."

Scott was both intrigued and horrified. "Gordon, we could be sued!"

"I had my hands full with Thunderbird One and we can't be responsible for the actions of inebriated rescuees. She was kind of out of it at the thought of being in the air but I don't think she needed to be drunk to show me. She seemed easy-going, if you know what I mean. She said she loves everyone, even guys."

"Even guys? We come down the list, huh?"

"She thought we were the same in our priorities."

"I hope you set her straight," Virgil said.

"No wives, no girlfriends. She was a hard one to convince."

"You could lie a little. A lot, if you have to."

Scott could still feel the bruises on his arms. "Whoever they'd be, they'd have to be tough." And they agreed to that.

"We can't have any identifying marks, tattoos," Virgil said, sounding like he didn't appreciate the previous topic. "It's against the rules."

"Scott could have one where no-one would ever see." Gordon snickered wickedly. He rolled to point to his bare buttock. "'Mom', just here."

Scott growled in his throat. "Remember who does the duty rosters. All that untapped virility you're boasting about."

"Back to work. No good thinking about that," Virgil said.

They all agreed again, and talked about the needs of the next day and equipment maintenance for tomorrow. Another day of risk and rescue for the people of planet Earth.

After a while, they went quiet. Scott's thoughts sauntered back to the barn in Kansas. Looking up as he did, now, he remembered sweet, sweet hay pressed into his skin, shafts of light dividing the beams of the gable, a cobweb rocking in a draft between the shingles.

"I know where John keeps his picture books," Gordon said out of the darkness.

Silence.

"_Go-go Girls_?" Virgil finally asked.

"Yup."

"_Amorous in the Amazon_?" Scott said.

"Uhuh."

Scott looked over to see Gordon smiling at him. He looked at Virgil who was also grinning back. An old idea was born in his head. He decided clouds and the storms in them would have to wait for one hour, at least.


End file.
